


The Measure of a Gentleman

by doctornerdington



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Eggsy is romantic, Fluff, Harry is an idiot, Harry works shit out, M/M, POV Harry, Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5663836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctornerdington/pseuds/doctornerdington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry had thought – hoped – that having Eggsy once might be enough to calm the rising tide of lust that threatened to overwhelm him every time he looked at the boy. That the memory of Eggsy’s hands around his waist, the look on his face when he came, the taste of him in his mouth might be enough. </p><p>It wasn’t. </p><p>Of course it wasn’t, and he had been an absolute self-deluded fool from start to finish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Measure of a Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Fitting Room One: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3803659  
> It can probably be read as a stand-alone, but hey -- why miss out on the porn-fest? ;)

_“One finds that love is not a state, a feeling, a disposition, but an exchange, uneven, fraught with history, with ghosts, with longings that are more or less legible to those who try to see one another with their own faulty vision.”  
– Judith Butler_

 

Harry sank back into the deep leather of his armchair and took a long pull on his whiskey. It had been an eventful day to say the least, and he had no longer-term plans than sitting in his study and playing his encounter with Eggsy over and over again in his mind while getting very, very drunk.

He’d passed the rest of the day in a haze of unnamable emotional disturbance. He wouldn’t have been able to tell you whether he was idiotically happy, burning with lust, or mired in misery. Honestly, had no idea. He sighed and toyed with the missing button on his jacket. He’d been careless – that’s what it was. Careless with his desire, and heedless of its consequences. He’d behaved reprehensibly, in fact, and Eggsy – well. If he didn’t get himself under control, Eggsy would once again pay the price for his mistakes.

Harry permitted himself to undertake a small thought experiment. What would happen if they continued? Say he sought Eggsy out again, for company, for companionship. For sex – let’s be honest. Imagine they became lovers. In the unlikely event that Eggsy had any interest in him beyond the purely sexual and their liaison continued, Eggsy was, at least, unlikely to face professional repercussions at Kingsman. Fraternization of this sort was frowned upon, but it wasn’t as explicitly forbidden as Harry had intimated. But he would be harmed in other ways, wouldn’t he? He’d find himself tied to an old man who couldn’t offer him a stable future. Worse: an old man whose carelessness earlier in his life had cost the boy his father. No – it was unthinkable. Even if Eggsy felt anything more for him than transitory lust or, god help him, some misplaced gratitude, Harry could not allow the lad to waste his time in such a damaging relationship.

Christ, though. Eggsy. Just thinking about him made his skin prickle with heat. What was he going to do? He’d thought – hoped – that having him once might be enough to calm the rising tide of lust that threatened to overwhelm him every time he looked at him. That the memory of Eggsy’s hands around his waist, the look on his face when he came, the taste of him in his mouth might be enough.

It wasn’t.

Of _course_ it wasn’t, and he had been an absolute self-deluded fool from start to finish.

He cursed under his breath and drained his glass; stood to pour himself another generous measure.

Unbidden, images of the dear, beautiful boy danced behind his eyelids.

Eggsy: crowding him against the wall Fitting Room One, cocky and desperate.

Eggsy: looking at him like he was all he had ever wanted in the world. Dangerous, that. Harry shook his head.

Eggsy: shoving back onto his cock and begging him to fuck him harder, harder, _harder_.

A kaleidoscope of hopeless desire.

He was hard again, here in his study, alone. Christ almighty.

Harry palmed himself thought his trousers, burning with self-reproach. But here, in his most private sanctuary – who was he hurting? Certainly not Eggsy. No one would ever know.

He popped open his flies. Eggsy’s face danced before him, taunting. He remembered the sensation of Eggsy’s body pressed against his, cock hard and hot against his hip. He grasped his own cock, roughly tugging, twisting around the head on every stroke. Through clenched teeth, he gritted out a broken moan. Eggsy’s arse, plush and firm, and so, so pretty. Hot and tight and perfect around his cock. His hand sped as his hips began to thrust.

Even at the height of his pleasure, Harry’s face flushed at the memory of the words he’d spoken, the words that had come pouring out of him almost convulsively, and certainly unbidden, as he’d fucked Eggsy. Words of passion. Words of ownership. He was staggered at his own audacity.

Pleasure and shame entwined, pooled in his belly as his climax took him. His body went rigid and he cried out one word, chest heaving, eyes squeezing shut: a name uttered in despair and hopeless devotion.

He slumped back into his chair, breathing hard. Even then, his memory offered no relief.

Eggsy: impassive. Face blank as he allowed Harry to clean and dress him, afterwards, Harry striving to reveal nothing of the weight of emotion behind every touch.

Harry shuddered with self-loathing for the way he had left. Just turned and walked away. As if it could be that easy.

He rubbed his eyes until starbursts swirled under the pressure of his fingers, trying to erase the images.

Looked down at his lap, grimacing at the mess he had made of himself. He sighed and reached for his drink, drowning it in a swallow. This was going to be a long night.

*****

Harry was sat at his desk in HQ, engaged in some particularly egregious paperwork when his mobile chimed. He looked down carelessly, expecting Bedevere to be texting plans for their standing Monday night fencing match.

It was Eggsy, of course. Already? At last? He had no idea, but his stomach flipped like he was sixteen again as he thumbed open the text.

_C’mon Harry. One more time. Your place or mine?_

Harry stared at his mobile in horror. Did the boy have no sense of self-preservation at all? Did he truly not know what was best for him? Or was he just too young to care? Either way, Harry resolved to stand firm. He was a gentleman, after all, and his code of conduct existed for several very good reasons. He had to act in the boy’s best interest – for once.

Such a clumsy proposition, though. Harry sighed. He knew he should be relieved that the boy’s interest was so transparently, superficially sexual. But he was a weak, weak man, and he’d never felt older, more outdated. And still he was tempted: that was the devil of it. He wanted Eggsy, and damn the consequences – wanted him with a bone-deep longing that took his breath away.

He shook his head. He’d lost that battle before, and look where it had landed him – smack in the middle of this ridiculous morass of conflicting emotions. He placed the phone face-down on his desk and carefully did not look when it chimed again. Again and again.

Harry sat at his desk for the rest of the night and did exactly no more work. He missed his match with Bedevere. After a while, his phone was silent.

*****

Harry rounded the corner, lost in his own thoughts, and slammed full speed into a block of a man in his path. He staggered and recovered gracefully as the man began to swear.

“The fuck?! Watch where you’re headed, you…” The voice broke off in an exclamation of surprise. It was Eggsy. Harry closed his eyes. Yes, of course. He swallowed hard.

Eggsy bit off his curse. “Oh. Harry.”

“Eggsy.”

“I ain’t seen you about.” Harry was aware of cobalt blue eyes sweeping over him like searchlights.

“No,” he conceded. “No, I…”

Eggsy raised his eyebrows.

Harry was quiet. He had no idea what to say.

“How are ya, Harry?” Eggsy asked, putting his hand on Harry’s arm. He moved closer, unsubtly.

Harry sighed. Warmth flooded his body like sunlight – like hope – but savagely he stamped it down and assumed a distant, preoccupied frown.

“I thought we had agreed to keep this professional,” he said cooly. “‘Just once,’ remember? I am your sponsor, your mentor, and your superior.” He stepped away. “Now, is there anything you need? If not, I suggest you return to your training schedule.”

Eggsy blinked as if he’d been slapped and jerked his hand back.

“Yeah. Yeah, alright. I’ll just… I’ll get back to it then.” He turned and slunk back down the hall in the direction from which he’d come.

Harry sagged against the wall once Eggsy was out of sight. He banged his head back hard against the paneling. His arm felt warm where Eggsy’s hand had been. His skin buzzed.

This was exactly as awful as he’d feared.

*****

Harry didn't have friends. He had colleagues. Enemies. Acquaintances. Protégés. And Merlin. He had Merlin.

He thought about confiding what he had begun to think of as his nascent mid-life crisis to Merlin. It was so rare that he had anything to confide. His life was an open book – an open lens – viewable at all times through his Kingsman glasses. He almost never removed them. Merlin was his conscience and his guide; the voice in his ear that often became the voice in his head. He knew him better than anyone; better, even, than Harry knew himself. Harry thought that maybe he should begin to take advantage of that fact.

The next morning, he walked through the doors of Merlin’s lab with no clear plan. The worst hangover he could remember experiencing had its grips in him. It had been another bad night.

Merlin was standing at a two-way mirror watching the new recruits compete like idiot children in the trainee gymnasium. Harry joined him. Without his permission, his eyes sought out Eggsy. He was there, bravado tucked carefully away, quietly doing endless pull-ups in a far corner of the room. His thin cotton shirt was soaked through with sweat. Harry wanted to lick it.

“Out with it,” Merlin snapped. “I’m busy.” He made a quick notation in his file, eyes on the recruits.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, very busy ogling the recruits, I see.”

Merlin grinned. “Perks of the job, mate,” he said without looking away. “Don’t knock it.”

Harry was silent for another minute, steeling himself for a conversation he didn’t quite know how to have. “It’s… It’s Unwin. Eggsy. I –” He broke off, genuinely at a loss as to what to say next. He and Merlin had known each other for decades, had trained together – had literally been through wars together.

This was harder.

“Yes? What mischief has our beautiful boy landed himself in now?”

“We – I… That is to say, we’ve done something. Something we probably shouldn’t have…” He broke off incoherently.

Merlin turned to him incredulously. “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”

Harry hung his head.

“And you have the gall to call yourself Galahad? Fuck, Harry! Were you thinking at all at the time?”

“I’m not a fool, Merlin,” Harry sighed.

“No?” He raised a scathing eyebrow.

“Oh, fuck off. I don’t need a lecture. I told him… I told him it would just be once. Never again.”

“And this is the extent of your wisdom, is it?” Merlin scowled, and then suddenly uncoiled like a snake striking: shoved him, hard, in the chest. Harry staggered back, too dejected to even defend himself. A hand curled roughly around his throat. He’d rarely seen Merlin so instantly angry.

“Good _christ_ , Harry!” he hissed, and coming from Merlin, a whisper was far more dangerous than a shout.

“Think of everything you’re jeopardizing – for what? A quick fuck in the fitting rooms? A bloody bit of arse? The pup’s pretty, I grant you, but he’s been making eyes at you since the beginning! If you think he’ll just leave you alone now, you’ve lost your mind.”

“Merlin. It’s not… it’s not…” Harry didn’t know what it wasn’t. He didn’t even have words for what it _was_.

Merlin’s hand around Harry’s throat shook. Harry could still breathe, but only just. A burst of adrenalin spiked through the miserable haze that shrouded him, calling up Galahad from where he lay dormant somewhere inside Harry.

 _Galahad_. Merlin’s little joke since their training days: Galahad the Pure, veteran of a hundred honeypots. How many times had Merlin sent him off on a mission sardonically quoting Tennyson in his earpiece: “May thy lance thrusteth sure!”

Harry had always replied in kind: “My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.”

Harry blinked out of his reverie. Somehow the adrenalin and the anger and Merlin’s voice rattled loose something buried deep in his chest, igniting a terrifying realization.

Merlin stood before him, flushed with rage, awaiting an explanation.

Harry thought he might vomit. “'I never felt the kiss of love,' you see,” he quoted shakily.

Merlin stilled. The hand around his throat relaxed slightly.

“Oh. Oh, you sorry bastard. Fuck, Harry.” The sudden sympathy in Merlin’s eyes hurt more than the hand around his throat had. Harry slumped against the wall.

“What do I do, Merlin?” Harry’s voice broke, to his consternation.

Merlin shook his head. “I’ll tell you what you don’t do, you unbelievable moron,” he said gently. The threatening hand on his throat shifted. Merlin’s anger left him as quickly as it had arrived; he gave Harry’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “You don’t stand on this side of the glass pining for _him_ and talking to _me_.”

There was silence, for a moment.

“It’s not that easy,” Harry said. “There are many considerations.”

“Fuck considerations,” Merlin said easily. “Talk to the lad.”

Harry shook his head minutely.

Merlin groaned and returned to his file.

*****

It was odd, feeling impotent: a foreign and deeply unsettling experience for Harry. He knew what he wanted, and he knew very well why he shouldn’t – why he _wouldn’t_ – take it, Merlin be damned. Still, he never did deal well with inertia, and within a week of his talk with Merlin, he was crawling out of his own skin in frustration. And so, Harry did what he always did when he needed to feel powerful. He went to work.

“Send me out!” he begged Merlin. “I need a mission. I don’t care what it is. Talk to Arthur. Just send me _out_.”

Merlin looked at him thoughtfully. “Alright, Harry,” he said, and turned on his heel, leaving a surprised Harry blinking after him. That had been too easy. Merlin never acquiesced that quickly. Still, if it got him a mission, he couldn’t pretend to care.

*****

Merlin didn’t send Harry on a mission – oh no. He sent him on a _month_ of missions, each more tedious and exhausting than the last.

By the second week, Harry noticed a pattern. Honeypots. They were all honeypots of one type or another. He seduced the second in line to the Bahraini throne, distracting him just long enough for Lamorak to abscond with some highly sensitive stolen satellite plans that the man had locked in his office safe. He posed as a wealthy and naive country squire and courted a high-profile and very corrupt City trader, obtaining evidence of a massive fraud ring. He fucked a British royal nanny against the wall of the momentarily-unoccupied palace nursery, then blackmailed her with the evidence into resigning her post – thereby preventing a notorious blackmailer from sinking her own hooks into the royal family.

After that last one, he’d had enough. He didn’t mind honeypot missions on principle – his body was a tool to be used, after all – but these were leaving him with a sour taste in his mouth and an ache in his chest. He’d hoped the work would distract him, but all it was doing was reminding him, over and over again, of things he wanted but couldn’t have.

“Stop it, Merlin,” he hissed through his comm link. “You’ve made your point. This is enough.”

“Just do your job,” Merlin snapped, severing the connection.

Harry did. What choice did he have? It wasn’t until two weeks and several missions later that he finally returned home from the field.

*****

Harry’s phone chimed subtly from where it lay on his bedside table.

He groaned. It felt as if he’d just closed his eyes. He was exhausted from his spate of missions, and had fallen into bed as soon as he’d arrived home. Every muscle in his body ached and he felt like he hadn’t slept in days. He cracked an eye open. Midnight.

The phone chimed again, somehow more insistently. It was his personal ringtone; not Merlin, then, thank christ for small mercies.

He rolled over and fumbled for the phone, feeling every minute of every day of every year of his ostentatiously advanced age. He thumbed open the text.

_HARRY. I’m losing it. Need to talk to you._

Suddenly, Harry was fully awake, sitting bolt upright in bed and holding his phone in a death grip.

He gaped at it stupidly. Eggsy.

 **What’s wrong?** He’d typed out the return message before he could think better of it. His thumb hovered over the “send” button. He hesitated.

He should not be encouraging unprofessional conduct. He should act, always, in the best interests of the Kingsmen and of the trainees in his care. In Eggsy’s best interests.

He swallowed. The phone chimed.

_Harry please. Merlin told me you’re back._

He pressed “send.”

The phone responded with a flurry of chimes.

_Thank fuck. Can’t stop thinking about you Harry._

_Can’t stop thinking about us._

_I liked it, Harry. I liked it too much._

Harry let out a shuddering breath. **Why too much?** he replied.

There was a pause.

_Idk._

_Forget I said that._

**No. Why too much, Eggsy?**

Another pause. Harry realized he had a white-knuckle grip on his phone and forced himself to relax. Just as he began to give up hope of a response, his phone chimed again.

_Can I come over, Harry? Please?_

_Need to see your face._

Now it was Harry’s turn to pause. It was all he wanted. Everything, offered up to him so guilelessly, so easily. It was breathtaking. His heart clenched in his chest.

**Yes. Yes, alright.**

*****

Less than ten minutes later, the doorbell rang.

A wave of adrenaline washed over Harry. He stood, buttoning his jacket and smoothing the drape of his trousers. He’d dressed meticulously, but with shaking hands. He didn’t know what he was doing; only knew that he was far too tired to care about doing the right thing anymore.

Harry opened the door.

“Eggsy. Hello.”

“Hi. Thanks for lettin’ me come over. I know it’s late.”

Harry raised a brow. It was almost one o’clock in the morning. He looked away. He so rarely felt awkward that he didn’t know what to do with the feeling now. Creeping fingers of uncertainty, of confusion, traced their way from his stomach to his throat. He coughed slightly.

“You look lovely,” Harry said, not quite making eye contact. And Eggsy did: scrubbed clean and pink and bright, practically glowing, and perfectly attired in the bespoke suit Harry himself had helped him order. His Kingsman glasses were nowhere to be seen; Harry had left his own off, as well.

Manners maketh man, even – especially – in trying times. Unable to resist, Harry moved forward onto the step and leaned in to kiss Eggsy’s cheek; perfectly respectable. Plausibly chaste. A small surrender.

At the last possible second, Eggsy turned his head and kissed him, instead, with infinite gentleness, softly on the mouth.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” he whispered against Harry’s lips.

Harry nodded wordlessly.

Eggsy caught his hand in his own and brought it to his lips. He looked up at Harry through his lashed and blushed – _blushed_ – as he kissed his hand.

Harry smiled, helplessly charmed, and then Eggsy pulled him inside.

Harry closed and locked the door behind them, and they were alone in the house with the night stretching out before them. Harry felt detached from reality, as if he were still dreaming. He had absolutely no idea what to expect. It was just him and Eggsy now, together here while London slept. Harry’s qualms seemed strange and inconsequential, arcane moral arguments that had no place between them.

The house was dim, lit only, as Harry preferred, with soft shaded lamps that reflected warmly off the dark paneled walls. Silently, Eggsy drew Harry into the sitting room. Poured them each a drink and arranged himself beside Harry on the settee, and finally turned to speak.

“I’ve had enough of the bullshit, Harry,” he said plainly. “Merlin put me through hell this month, telling me all about your missions and your conquests, and you – you were gone! I couldn’t talk to you, and you wouldn’t text me, and – I’m losing it, Harry. I can’t do it anymore. I’m putting an end to it.”

Harry felt as if a gaping hole had opened up in his chest. He nodded slightly and looked away. This was good. This was best for Eggsy. It was… what he wanted. Wasn’t it?

Beside him, he felt Eggsy stiffen. “No, I didn’t mean – I. I’m sorry, Harry.” He dropped his head into his hands, pulling furiously on his hair. “I’m doin’ this all wrong.”

The room was silent, waiting.

Harry couldn’t stand it. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and spoke into the middle of the room, carefully avoiding looking at Eggsy. “No. No, you’re quite right,” he said. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, stilted and broken. “I’m not a good man, Eggsy. I haven’t been good for you. You’re quite right.”

Then Harry felt a finger on his chin. Eggsy was guiding his face back around, forcing him to look at him – to really look.

“Jesus. Shut up, will you? I only mean, I’m not leaving the ball in your court – not anymore. I intend to have you tonight, Harry,” he said seriously, and he dropped his hand to Harry’s thigh. “If you’ll let me, I mean.”

Harry blinked. At Eggsy’s touch, a full body-shock electrified him. He swallowed down the lump that rose in his throat and tried to reply, but Eggsy shushed him.

“If you’ll let me, Harry, I’ll have you tonight, and I’ll wake up with you tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. And I don’t care about things that happened before I was old enough to remember, or things that went sideways that you couldn’t control, or things that might happen in the future. I’m my own man, Harry. And I want what I want. I don’t know what a bloke like you could want with someone like me, but I’m claiming you all the same. If you want me.”

Harry had never seen Eggsy so earnest. Everything that was left of his crumbling resistance fled, and he nodded, once. He was too tired to fight against himself anymore.

“Yes,” he murmered. “Yes. Of course I want you. Of _course_ I do.”

Eggsy’s eyes went soft, crinkled at the edges. He was happy, Harry saw. So happy. _Harry_ had done that.  
This man – this man who had lost so much to Harry’s mistakes, who by all rights should despise him – was looking at Harry with so much hope and so much affection, Harry could barely meet his eyes.  
  
“I tried to stay away,” he whispered. Eggsy smelled of soap and cedar and the fresh, sharp air of the London night. “I tried to stay away, I tried to stop this. I tried to do it for you, but I can’t…” He looked away.

“Hey, hey, shh. No more of that.” Eggsy put his hands on Harry’s lapels and pulled him in, gently nuzzling his cheek before touching his lips to Harry’s, kissing him chastely, over and over again, his lips, his eyes, his forehead, his cheeks, his jaw. “Way I see it,” he was murmuring between kisses, “this thing is bigger'an us both. It’s not up to you anymore, and it’s not up to me. It just – is. Don’t help no one to ignore it.”

Harry’s heart cracked open, then, he was sure of it: expanding, filling with warmth. He dipped his head and captured Eggsy’s mouth in a long, slow kiss. He took his time, relearning Eggsy’s lips, licking between them until they opened to him with a whimper, and then delving deep, tasting, entirely lost.

Eggsy groaned, grabbing at Harry’s jacket again and pulling him closer, all but climbing into his lap. He kissed Harry back with everything he had. Suddenly, his hands were everywhere, skimming along Harry’s shoulders, down his back, around his waist. He reached down to unfasten Harry’s jacket as if he couldn’t wait to get his hands on skin. Harry took a deep, shuddering breath.

Eggsy pulled back, panting. “This time, I’m going to see you,” he whispered. “Gonna see every inch of you. Take my time. Lick you all over. Learn you. And I’m going to keep you, Harry.”

Then it was Harry’s turn to groan. He pushed his face into the crook of Eggsy’s neck. He couldn’t quite believe this was real. He reached out and grabbed Eggsy around the torso; he was solid and warm under his hands, well-muscled and responsive. Harry watched his hands stroke up and down Eggsy’s chest. He was here. This was happening.

Suddenly, Eggsy was shifting against him, pulling away. Harry looked up in concern, but Eggsy was only laughing, his body shaking with it.

“Hmm?” Harry made an inquisitive sound and bent to kiss Eggsy’s jaw. Now that he was allowed, he was never going to stop.

Eggsy’s hands were on his jacket, toying with the threads where the missing button had been torn away.

Harry felt something being pressed into his hand. “Here,” Eggsy said, still giggling. “Picked this up the other day. Didn’t think you’d need it back, being a tailor and all.”

Harry gaped at the button in his hand. “You kept…?” His brain felt slow, sluggish.

“But here, look,” Eggsy went on, fingering his jacket. “Ragged. Out of character, that. It ain’t right.” His eyes were on Harry’s mouth.

Harry growled. Grabbed the button and tossed it away over his shoulder, lunging again for Eggsy and toppling them backwards, off the settee. They landed on the floor, Harry lying heavily atop Eggsy, his head bracketed between Harry’s arms.

“You utter wanker,” Eggsy said, all fondness. “You mad bastard.”

“You darling,” Harry replied softly. “You beauty.”

Eggsy grinned, brilliantly, and kissed him.

 


End file.
